Sarah-Jane's Jurassic Journal (selected excerpts)
by Fayza Banks
Summary: 'Invasion of the Dinosaurs' AU. The first time the Doctor tried to stop the time reversal, he failed...
1. Day 1

**Day One**

I'm calling this entry Day One because I don't know when we are exactly. And even if I did, it would be "something-or-other-millions" of years BC. So Day One is as good a heading as any.

We're here in what the Doctor says is 'the Jurassic era' because back in 1970s London a bunch of crazy scientists built a device to transport themselves to the past, along with a supposed 'spaceship' full of volunteers who thought they were travelling to a different planet. Well, the volunteers have been disabused of that notion, thanks to yours truly walking out of their 'airlock' to prove a point. But we couldn't prevent Whitaker pulling the time switch. The Doctor eventually managed to reach the lever and prevent us going any further back in time, but – well, I'm really not sure what we're going to do now.

Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart, who seemed to recover from the shock of transition quicker than anyone except the Doctor – military training, perhaps? - demanded that the Doctor, or Whitaker or _somebody_ took us right back where we'd come from. That was when the Doctor dropped the bombshell that there was insufficient power in the system to take us _anywhere_.

"Not so much as a couple of days, Brigadier," he said, and I could see the Brigadier trying to take that in.

His face pretty much reflected what I was feeling myself – puzzlement, disbelief, shock. He looked from Grover and Whitaker to his revolver, as though deciding whether to use the weapon or not, and I saw the Doctor move to step between them. But the Brigadier shook his head, holstered his gun, and growled "They're not worth wasting bullets on." Then he walked across to where the Doctor was standing, braced his hands on his hips and said, "Doctor, there _has_ to be a way out of here!"

"What about the sleeper ship?" I said, as I went to stand behind the Brig, "I mean, the whole thing came with us, didn't it? Doesn't it have its own power supply?"

"I doubt it'll be enough, Sarah," said the Doctor, "Not without an external power source to boost the generator – and the power sources are all about a hundred million years in the future." Then he must have read something in the Brigadier's face, because he did that jaw-rub thing he does when he's thinking, and when he spoke again his voice had lost its hard edge. "Alright. Alright, I'll take a look. But I make no guarantees."

That was hours ago.

I tagged along with the Doctor for a while, but it was obvious that I was just in the way. So I went back to the fake ship's compartments, and found Adam organising an audit of supplies; and the Brigadier about to lead the few UNIT men he had with him on a recce of the immediate area. I would have liked to have gone outside to take a look around, but none of the men would hear of it – sexist swine! So I joined in the audit instead, and was glad I did when I found the notepads and pens in one of the storage drawers.

I can hear Ruth calling – something about supper, which sounds like a great idea. Haven't eaten since… I can't recall.

Supper. That means the day is nearly over.

Day One.

I hope there won't be too many more days for me to record, before we get back where we belong.


	2. Day 4

**Day Four**

The Brigadier saved my life today.

I shouldn't have been outside, I know, but I was going stir-crazy staying indoors. It's not like there's a lot of 'indoors' to explore, really, especially with 200 other people fighting for space – there's the control room, the fake'sleeper ship', a few linking corridors and a bit of tube station. Beyond that… just a bit of broken street around the station where the rest of civilisation used to be, three UNIT jeeps and the back half of a fourth, and a few hatches masquerading as airlocks on the fake 'ship', which now lead straight out onto a hillside.

I only wanted to take a peek, see what a Jurassic London basin looked like. But it seemed so peaceful out there, so inviting, and when I felt the warm breeze on my face and saw the sun shining, I thought it surely couldn't hurt just to have walk 'around the block'. There was some sort of strange, knee-high grass undulating in the breeze, and below in the valley, where the Thames was – I mean, _will be_ – was a swampy area, with scrubby bushes, pools of water and (I had to rub my eyes, even though I should have expected it) several real, live dinosaurs wallowing about.

I just wanted to take a closer look. I couldn't see anything lurking in the grass – and in any case, none of the dinosaurs I'm familiar with could 'lurk' anywhere, and certainly not in foot-high cover – so I set off with the intention of going to the next rise, which seemed to me likely to have a better view of the valley beyond.

I was about halfway there when I heard the strange noise in the sky, and turned around to see the pterodactyl heading right for me. It was _huge_! I mean, it could have picked me up in one claw, and probably had every intention of doing so. I took one look at its open, razored beak, and its massive leathery wings and threw myself into the grass, ducking my head out of the way. I suppose I might possibly have screamed too. Just a bit. At any rate, the next thing I knew, there was a shout of "Sarah!" and a shot. The pterodactyl squawked once, then I heard it crash to the ground, but I didn't dare look up until I felt a hand on my arm and heard the Brigadier say, "Are you hurt?"

I wasn't. Just a bit winded – and my ego had taken a bruising too. I apologised as he helped me up and I dusted myself off. "I know I was stupid, wandering off. But I looked around, and I didn't see anything big enough to eat me!"

"Did you look up?"

He already knew the answer, so I didn't bother replying. I just gazed at the creature he'd killed, which was stretched out in the grass between us and the concrete-and-metal structure that sat incongruously at the top of the hill.

"I've seen elephants that are smaller than that," he said, and that wonderful little tune from _Dumbo_ popped into my head.

"'_When I see an elephant fly!'"_ I sang, in a silly, unthinking reaction to being saved from the brink of becoming a snack.

The Brigadier spun around, his eyes flashing blue as the light caught them, and I expected him to make some cutting remark about the inappropriateness of warbling a Disney tune. But after giving me a hard look for a moment, he turned his head away. "My daughter loves that song," he said, his voice low and soft, "When I take her to the zoo I have to sing it for her in the car on the way back."

The idea of the Brigadier singing anything, let alone something as silly as _When I see an elephant fly_ was so incongruous that I almost laughed out loud.

Almost.

It was the expression on his face as I looked up at him that stopped me, that and the way his voice shook ever so slightly as he finished speaking. I realised he didn't think he'd ever see his child again, and the laugh died in my throat.

"The Doctor will work something out," I said, "I mean, I haven't known him for long, but Sergeant Benton says he's a genius at figuring out the impossible!"

The Brigadier glanced down, and I realised I'd seized his hand as I spoke. As I let go and muttered another apology, he said, "I can see I'll have to have a word with Benton about talking to journalists," and he sounded much more like the man I'd come to know over the past few weeks. "Come on, let's get back inside before any more of those things appear. I've only got nine rounds left," he added, and I let him lead the way back to our out-of-place human habitation. As we neared the hatch to go in, he yelled at two UNIT soldiers who were standing under the shelter of the Underground canopy that hung over the redundant ticket hall entrance. "You two! Chap with wings over there – leather and meat. See to it!"

"Meat!" My stomach recoiled at the thought of eating any part of the thing.

"Waste not want not, Miss Smith," he said, ushering me through the hatch, "Bullets aren't the only thing that will be in short supply around here if the Doctor can't take us back where we belong."

Mark came rushing over then, all puppyish anxiety and fuss, and led me off to the area that's become our communal space, making me 'sit down and have a drink'. Not that there's what I'd call a proper drink anywhere around, but I sipped what he gave me, and tried not to be irritated as he insisted on escorting me to the sleeping space I've been assigned in among the fake ship's cabins.

As I've been writing this, my pen has begun to shake and I feel a bit weepy. Delayed reaction, I suppose. Perhaps I'd better lie down for a while. Maybe by the time I wake up, we'll be home.


	3. Day 7

**Day Seven**

I realised I hadn't seen the Doctor for two days, and went off to look for him. I found him in the bowels of the power plant, surrounded by pipes and wiring. He was just sitting there on the floor, staring into space.

"Doctor?" I gestured at the surroundings. "Shouldn't you be doing something?"

He sighed and shook his head. "There's nothing I can do, Sarah Jane. Nothing. Believe me, I've tried." He picked up a bundle of wires and pushed them aside. "We're stuck here. You, me, the Brigadier, Professor Whitaker and two hundred New Earthers who thought they were going to a different planet."

"At least they signed up for a new life," I pointed out, as I sat on the floor next to him, "I didn't. Nor did you or… oh. The poor Brigadier."

"Poor Brigadier? What makes it any worse for him?" snapped the Doctor. "He signed up for UNIT didn't he? Dealing with the unexpected? The unexplained? I didn't ask for this, you know! It was bad enough being exiled to earth for three years in the 70s, but at least there were alien threats to counter, and a laboratory to work in. And just when I'm getting used to having the TARDIS back again, and looking forward to exploring more of time and space, this happens!"

"But Doctor," I said, when I could get a word in edgeways, "You've only got you! The Brigadier has a family, a child. I think he's the only one here who has." I'd asked around: the other UNIT soldiers were single, Sir Charles was a childless widower, Professor Whitaker had no-one either; while the New Earthers had been chosen for their lack of family ties.

"Yes," said the Doctor, his voice suddenly much gentler, "Kate. He'll miss her dreadfully, I'm afraid. He found the once-a-fortnight access hard enough…"

"He's divorced then?"

"A few years back. Couldn't save the earth _and_ his marriage, and he put duty first." Then he said something that really surprised me. "But he's not the only one here with a family, you know. Not the only one who has left people behind." He looked right at me for a moment, then looked away. "When I left Gallifrey I had my grand-daughter with me. Susan. I left her in the 24th century. Promised her I'd go back one day. Never have. Now I suppose I never will."

He patted my knee and got to his feet. When he spoke again, his voice had its usual decisive authority back.

"Ask Adam to round everyone up, will you, Sarah? That ticket hall's probably got enough space to hold everyone." He brushed at his jacket and fastened his bow-tie, though he couldn't do much about the dust on his shirt ruffles. "I'll go and find Alistair," he said, "and tell him."

By the time I'd figured out that he meant the Brigadier, he'd gone.


	4. Day 15

**Day Fifteen**

Sir Charles Grover got eaten this morning.

What a horrible thing to have to write, even though the man was partly responsible for marooning us here, millions of years from home.

Of course, he wouldn't listen to anyone, that was the problem. With the Brigadier and the UNIT troops off on another recce, and therefore no-one to threaten him with a punch in the mouth, Sir Charles started to throw his weight about again. Worse, some of the people who had actually wanted to start a new life on a fresh planet sided with him.

"Let him go, Sarah," the Doctor said, when Sir Charles insisted on going to take soil samples from the hillside below, "he's not the sort of idiot you can reason with."

Well, now he's not any sort of idiot at all.

I wonder what that thing was? Never seen its like in the Natural History Museum, I'm sure of that.

I do hope the Brigadier's alright. He really didn't look well, those first few days after the Doctor told us we're here to stay – he didn't even bother to shave, which the Doctor said was unprecedented - but whenever I tried to talk to him he walked away. When he announced he was taking three men to reconnoitre the area properly, to find a better spot to settle than the one we were in, I went straight to the Doctor: "You have to stop him, Doctor! Right now, he doesn't care whether he comes back or not – you _can't _let him go off in that state of mind!"

"What on earth makes you think he'll listen to me, Sarah? In any case, he's quite right. We can't stay here. It's not defendable, there are too many predators around for us to venture outside for more than a couple of yards, and there's no fresh water nearby. Once our own supplies run out, or the recycler packs up, we'll be left with nothing to drink. And I can't be the only one who's noticed that the showers are already being rationed?"

In the end, all I could do was ask the Brigadier to be careful.

But he's been gone for four days now, and I'm beginning to doubt that a Webley with nine rounds, and a couple of automatic rifles were enough against those creatures out there.


	5. Day 20

**Day Twenty**

The Brigadier's back.

It was difficult to recognise him under the grime and beard, and his uniform's a complete write-off, but fortunately the showers are still working (albeit on a cold-water basis only), the cut-throat razors get sharpened each day, and there seem to be plenty of t-shirts and blue-jacketed outfits in the stores.

So he looked really quite decent by the time he came into the communal area to brief us on UNIT's discoveries. The beard was gone, the moustache was back – and I thought it was cute that his hair had gone all curly in the shower, though to judge by the way he kept pushing his hands back through it, he rather detests it himself.

Anyway, the UNIT boys have found higher ground to the north – huge rock formations that have long since been erased in our own time, by geologic movements and glaciers and such. Or so the Doctor explained. The Brigadier particularly liked the look of a sandstone plateau, with a river almost encircling it. "High cliffs almost all the way around. A freshwater spring at the top. Just one narrow neck of land to give access, and that's pretty steep. It's a natural fortress, much more defensible than the area around here."

"Though not much use against the pterodactyls," said the Doctor.

"No." The Brigadier tangled his fingers in his curls again and gave them a rather irritated tug. "We'll have to find another way to deal with them."


	6. Day 22

**Day twenty-two**

Butler and Whitaker were overheard whinging that they were scientists, and weren't going to be of any help doing hard physical work.

Sergeant Benton was overheard telling the pair of them that in that case they were surplus to requirements, and the next time he saw either one of them near a cliff edge he'd help them on their way.

They've both been helping out with a will ever since.


	7. Day 36

**Day thirty-six**

I've noticed that the Brigadier has started addressing the UNIT troops by their first names – John, Colin, Alex, Peter and Matt.

When I asked him about it, he shrugged and said that I should call him Alistair, because rank really didn't matter now, did it?

But everyone still calls him 'Brigadier'.


	8. Day 43

**Day forty-three**

The last of the Land Rovers died today.

There's nothing wrong with it, we just don't have any petrol to refuel it. So, like the other two before it, we're dismantling it down to the wheelbase and using a couple of doors from the tube station to turn it into a sort of cart. There aren't too many more supplies to move to the plateau now, but there are still a lot of trees to fell and construction work to carry out, so we'll need something to help us drag things around.

I'm glad we managed to get all the mattresses from the fake ship, though I don't know how long they'll stay dry under the makeshift tents. When it rains, the place looks like Glastonbury without the bands.

These clothes are made for hard work and hard wear – even the Doctor and the UNIT troops have taken to wearing t-shirts - but it's so warm and damp all the time that I think they'll actually start to rot before too long. Then what will we do? There aren't any sheep around here, and nothing resembling cotton. Pterodactyl skins? Can't see that being a good look.


	9. Day 56

**Day fifty-six**

That's it. We've salvaged anything and everything possible from our old base. There isn't much left on the hillside there except a concrete shell and a strip of tarmac. I wonder what the archaologists will make of that in a hundred million years?

Adam, the Doctor and Alistair have gelled into a sort of triumvirate, and they work well together. Mostly. Alistair looks after security and logistics, Adam has been overseeing the work on building our new wooden huts, and the Doctor has been helping and advising on just about everything else – what's safe to eat, why our watches are wrong ("the planet is spinning faster now than in the twentieth century"), why the moon looks bigger ("it's closer to the planet. No use for perfect eclipses of the sun just yet.").

A couple of buildings are almost complete – the blacksmith's forge, and the first of the personal huts (which is only about 8 feet by 10 feet, but then it's just supposed to be for sleeping. Cooking and meals are communal, and everything else is just work.)

Everyone looks exhausted, even those who signed up for this sort of thing. Maybe what we need is a day off.

I'll talk to Alistair and the Doctor about it tomorrow.


	10. Day 60

**Day sixty**

We had some time off today. We were supposed to have the whole day, but a high wind in the night caused havoc with the tents and the metal sheeting, so it was midway through the afternoon before we'd got things well enough under control to take a break.

It was nice for a while. Just sitting in my tent catching up with these notes, adding a bit here and there, listening to the sound of the river tumbling over the rocks far below us. Murmuring voices, laughter even – when was the last time I heard that?

After a while, I got restless. I'd have loved a good murder mystery to lose myself in, but the only books the New Earthers brought with them are worthy tomes on how to survive in the wilderness – everything from 'make your own candles' to 'carving a canoe'.

So, I went and helped out with the cooking, which shows you how bored I was. John Benton had brought down another pterodactyl yesterday – we really do need to work out how we'll deal with them once the bullets run out – and chunks of it were roasting over open fires. I turned one of the spits for a while, which I found strangely relaxing, and watched Ruth adding bits of chopped greenery to the vast stewing pot that was bubbling away and giving off a strange but not unpleasant odour.

"What is that?" I called to her.

"Some sort of plantain," she said. "The Doctor's analysed it, and says it won't poison us."

"Quite the contrary in fact," said a familiar voice from behind me, "lots of iron and vitamins – sort of an early spinach."

"Yuck," I said, "I hate spinach."

But the plantain stuff tasted alright, once it had been boiled to a pulp, and the pterodactyl… well, it was marginally less greasy and tough than the first one we'd eaten, but it really wasn't a meal to relish.

By the time we'd finished eating, the moon was up, huge and full, its size still strange and alien even after all these weeks. Next to me, one of the New Earthers had produced a pad and pencil and was sketching the crowd around the fire; another one produced a guitar and began to strum, but I wasn't in the mood for music, and I got up and wandered across to the rocks near the cliff edge, to look at the moon.

"Not exactly Elgar, is it?"

The voice from the shadows startled me, and I pressed a hand to my chest as my heart thumped.

"Alistair. You made me jump."

"Sorry."

He was sitting on one of the boulders about ten feet from the edge, and he shifted along a little to make room for me to sit next to him. I could see he had a tankard in his hand and, as I sat down, he swallowed the last of his drink, and dropped the tankard to the moss under our feet.

"God, that is foul stuff," he said. "What I wouldn't give for a Glenmorangie."

"Or a cup of tea," I offered, and he nodded.

"The lads have set up a still," he said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder, "in one of the big storage containers. They're trying it out with the seeds from that grass we landed in – the Doctor says it won't kill us – but it'll be a while before it's ready."

I giggled. "Better not let Adam find out," I said, "they were all trying to get away from such hellish practices."

He didn't laugh, not quite. But he had the biggest grin I'd ever seen on his face, and I thought that was progress.

"It's nice to see you smile," I said.

He shook his head slightly and, just before he turned his head away, I saw his face change. I realised afresh that he had effectively been bereaved: so far as he was concerned, Kate might as well have been dead. Or on that vast, outlandish moon.

"I suppose you've had it drilled into you your whole life that you mustn't show your feelings," I said, "or, God forbid, actually talk about them. But Alistair, you can't keep bottling it all up! If you can't talk to me about it, talk to the Doctor – he understands what you're going through, if anyone here does."

I waited, but minutes passed, and I felt that I might as well have spoken to the boulder we were sitting on. Then, just as I reached out a hand to touch his arm, to tell him I would shut up now and leave him alone, he spoke, his voice a mixture of heartbreak and bitterness:

"I don't even have a picture of her. We're not allowed to carry personal stuff, not on duty."

If ever anyone needed a hug it was Alistair at that moment. So I put my arms around him, rested my head on his shoulder and said, "I'm so sorry, Alistair."

I felt his arms go around me, and I clung to him, not realising till that instant just how much I needed some comfort too, and we held each other for the longest time.

When I felt him draw back I held on, because I didn't want him to let me go, but he was only pulling back far enough to look at me. His eyes gazed into mine, searching and questioning, and he must have found the answer he wanted written all over my face.

He whispered my name; and then he kissed me.


	11. Day 61

**Day sixty-one**

When I came to this morning, it took me a few moments to work out why the tent was red and not blue, and why I didn't have any clothes on.

Then I remembered, and smiled, and looked around for Alistair, but I was alone. I could hear voices calling, distant axe-blows, and the ring of hammer on metal from the Smithy. I'd overslept! And Alistair had let me!

I scrambled into my clothes, used Alistair's shaving mirror as I ran my fingers through my hair to tame it, and stuck my head outside. No-one was looking in my direction, so I made for the latrines before anyone saw me, and then hurried back to the camp to find the Doctor. I was supposed to be helping him while he cannibalised the computers and scientific instruments – not that I knew much about what he was doing, but he liked to have someone to pass him things and say "that's brilliant, Doctor."

I'd thought up an excuse for being late, but I needn't have bothered. As soon as I went through the door, he gave me a huge, knowing grin and a wink. "Good morning, Sarah-Jane," he chirped, and I felt my face go hot.

"Um." I pushed my hands through my hair, then stuck them in my trouser pockets. "Does everybody know?"

"Oh, I should think so," he said, airily. "You're not exactly the quietest lover in town, you know."

Yes, well, that was Alistair's fault. I mean, I'd had no idea that…

Well, anyway.

"Maybe I can just stay in here for the rest of my life?" I suggested. "It's not likely to be long, I'm about to die of embarrassment anyway."

He chuckled.


	12. Day 75

**Day seventy-five**

Alistair and I moved into our hut today.

Not that there was much to move in: one mirror, two combs, two toothbrushes (where are we supposed to get more of those, I wonder), one razor, some disgusting soap made from dinosaur fat, and a couple of changes of clothes each.

The place has a peculiar smell, which I guess is due to the mud-mixed-with-dino-shit daub that was used to seal the wood. Fortunately the scent of the wood resin just about outweighs it, and if I do find it too much I can open our little window, courtesy of the Land Rover door that was built into one of the walls.

On the opposite wall, there's a map of the London Underground, tacked there with some of the new nails from the Smithy. It's completely and utterly useless, but it's a colourful reminder of a different time and place.

The one where we really belong.

As I stood looking at it, Alistair came and stood behind me. He put his arms around my waist and told me the story of the yetis in the underground, and how he first met the Doctor on a deserted tube line.

I leaned back against him, and reached up a hand to tangle my fingers in his hair and pull his face to mine for a kiss. "Did you ever have that conversation with Sergeant Benton about talking to journalists?" I murmured.

I felt his lips smile against mine. "Who's talking?"

Then Mark crashed in with a "housewarming present" – some fern he'd dug up and put in a pot for us.

I must say, the creature that emerged from the foliage after he'd left was very well camouflaged, Mark couldn't possibly have known it was there. Still, it was interesting to discover that not only is Alistair as handy with a knife as he is with a revolver, but also that he can swear fluently in French, Dutch and Bantu. Shame about the stain on the new floor, but maybe one of the New Earthers will weave us a mat?

As I write this, Alistair is fitting the rather more practical housewarming gift we received from the UNIT boys – a door lock, salvaged from what was once the staff toilet in the underground station. The last I saw of Mark he was nursing a very sore solar-plexus; the plant is decorating the bottom of the cliff-face.


	13. Day 82

**Day eighty-two**

Yesterday, the chap I'd seen sketching by the camp fire on our 'day off' – Tree, he insists on calling himself – hit his hand with a hammer and was invalided off of construction duties for several days at least.

Today, he came into the Doctor's workshop with his sketchpad in his good hand, and asked if he could draw us. "There isn't much else I'm good for at the moment. Might as well make use of the pencils while we've still got 'em."

The portraits he produced were really very good, and when I said I would give mine to Alistair, he very sweetly said he would draw Alistair for me tomorrow.

"Could you draw him in his UNIT uniform?" I asked, "I mean, I know he doesn't have it any more, and his hair's longer now but… well, it would be nice to have as a reminder."

"Sure, babes, I can do that," he said, managing to please and annoy me at one and the same time. "I worked as a police artist for a while, just drawing people from descriptions, you know? So a little bit of drawing from memory won't be a prob."

It wasn't till after he'd left that I suddenly got my idea, but before I ran after Tree, I turned to the Doctor and said: "Kate Lethbridge-Stewart, Doctor. Did you ever meet her?"

He nodded. "She came every Christmas to the UNIT Children's party," he said. "Sweet child, always very polite. Why do you ask?"


	14. Day 100

**Day One Hundred**

I told Adam it was a hundred days since we got here, and he gave everyone another day off.

The New Earthers marked it with a big feast (something with ten rows of teeth, speared in the river), a joining of hands, and a chant.

The UNIT boys marked it by quietly distributing the first batch of their bootleg whisky to those of us who might appreciate it. (Note to self: dilute future batches with at least five parts water.)

The Doctor marked it by working as usual.

I marked it by giving Alistair the drawing of Kate that Tree had produced from the Doctor's description. It's a good thing we were alone in the hut at the time - I'm sure he'd have hated for anyone else to see him get that emotional.


	15. Day 133

**Day one hundred and thirty-three**

I don't know whether it's the faster day-lengths, or the pull of the moon, the climate or the food, but I've completely lost track of my monthly cycle.

I _think_ it was due last week. Or maybe the week before. I think I'll go and have a word with Ruth, see if she's any better at maths than I am.

Later

Oh.

Crumbs.


	16. Day 140

**Day one hundred and forty**

Alison, who's partnered with Baz, the blacksmith, is about a month further along than I am, and she keeps dropping by with all sorts of tips and advice. Nice of her, I suppose, but she just ends up making me feel completely useless.

"She keeps warbling on about making layettes from old sheets and nappies from towels. As though we can afford to cut those up when we don't have anything to replace them!" Annoyed as I was, I tried to keep my voice down – Alison was in the hut next door, I didn't want her to hear me yelling.

"She means well."

"I know that. But she makes me feel so inadequate! There she is, practically crocheting her own bloody crib from scraps and iron filings, and I'm…" I flung my arms out to indicate the tiny space we had to ourselves, and sat down on the mattress, my head in my hands. "All I can think about is how impossible it's all going to be."

Alistair sat down next to me, and I leaned against him as he put his arms around me. I felt him kiss the top of my head and rest his cheek on my hair. "It won't be easy," he said, "but it won't be impossible. Sarah, all a baby needs is love, food and a clean nappy. Do you think you'll have any problem with the first two on the list?"

"No, of course not."

"Then we'll sort the rest out as we go. There's one thing, at least we won't have to worry about how much it's going to cost."

"I suppose not." He'd made me smile despite myself, and I went along with the joke. "Just as well, on your lousy salary."

I tilted my face up so he could kiss me, closed my eyes as his lips brushed mine – then opened them again with a start as the door crashed open and the Doctor strode in, his sonic screwdriver still humming from undoing the lock.

"I've done it," he announced, without so much as a by-your-leave, "I've made contact with the Time Lords. And they're going to help."


	17. Day 141

**Day one hundred and forty-one**

I don't know what's going to happen now.

The Doctor's still negotiating with the Time Lords, and I think he's annoyed with himself that he came to tell Alistair and me about his original arrangement – which was for the Time Lords to take him back to the moment the time reversal switch was pulled.

"I should have just gone," he snapped, "I could have put everything to rights by now, and you wouldn't have been any the wiser!"

"Because we wouldn't exist!" I said, still struggling to get my head around it.

"But you will!" said the Doctor. "You'll both be in the control room with me when I stop the time reversal."

I put my hand on my stomach. "Baby won't."

"Well of course baby won't. You two will have barely had time to get acquainted by the time I pull that lever, let alone…" He spun a hand, meaningfully. "…anything else. It's not as though you'll remember anything about all this – it will never have happened!"

"Will you remember it?" Alistair stood up and folded his arms, waiting for a reply. When none came, he drew his own conclusions. "You will, won't you?"

The Doctor had scratched his head. "It's complicated," he said, eventually.

"I'll take that as a 'yes'," said Alistair.

"Well I suppose we can take some comfort that at least you'll remember erasing us," I said, "and baby." My hormones got the better of me again, and as I started to cry I reached out to Alistair for a hug.

"Now look what you've done!" he said to the Doctor, as he put his arms around me, and I heard the Doctor sigh.

"Oh good grief! Alright, I'll talk the Time Lords again," he said. "While there's life there's hope - but I can't make any guarantees. I've got no bargaining power, you know. If you get wiped out of existence, don't blame me!"

Off he swept, back to his workshop and, since we're all still here, he must still be in there. I suppose if the Time Lords tell him he has to just erase us, he will. Seems odd to think that we won't even know it.


	18. October 14th 1973

**October 14****th**** 1973**

I don't know what the Doctor said to the Time Lords, and we'll never see him again to ask him, but Alistair and baby and I still exist – though we shouldn't.

As the Doctor explained it to us, the Time Lords identified a different time-stream – a different universe, if you like - where Alistair's counterpart and mine were killed in a road accident. The Time Lords agreed to replace them with us, moving their bodies to the hut in the Jurassic settlement, and sending Alistair and me through a (rather vomit-inducing) vortex to take their places. There was some stuff about their memories being retrieved for us too, so that we're not completely at sea in our new lives, but to be honest I didn't really understand the details, and don't really care how they did it.

We're here.

Once I'd finished throwing up on the grass verge by the wrecked car, I found Alistair by the open driver's door, just coming to. It took us a while to extricate ourselves from the police, the fire brigade and the drivers who had called them, but eventually we got a police ride back to Alistair's house.

"I need to call…" he started, as he found a key in his pocket and opened the front door. He rubbed his head, and for a moment I wondered if he was okay, but then he said, "It's strange. My own parents died years ago, but here they're still alive. They're looking after Kate for me today because I was going for an interview at the school down the road. Head of Maths."

I searched the memories of my own counterpart, and didn't much like what I found. She'd been writing a piece about the war in Aden, interviewed Alistair about acquiring his DSO out there, and had a one-night stand with him. The car had crashed today because she'd just confronted him about the pregnancy, and they'd been arguing.

"Ouch," I said. "Sorry – colonel."

Alistair grinned. "That'll take some getting used to," he said. Then he frowned. "So will Fiona."

I searched my 'other' memories. Oh yes, he'd mentioned Fiona in the interview. She'd died about three years ago. Riding accident.

"Weird," he said, "My ex doesn't even like horses."

I nodded. "Lots of differences here," I said, "We'll have to be careful what we say – for a while, anyway."

"Some things are still the same, though," said Alistair. He had picked up a black-and-white photograph from the mantelpiece and was smiling again. He passed it to me – a picture of him with a blonde toddler on his shoulders, taken on a beach somewhere. "It's Cromer," he said, "And I've got the exact same picture on my own mantelpiece."

I put the picture back, and gave him a kiss. "Call your parents," I said, "And ask them to bring her home."


	19. One Year Later

**One year later**

I read through my journal today. Seems strange, as though it all happened to someone else, and although I remember it all, I also remember the other Sarah's life. Her memories and experiences sometimes get so tangled with mine now that I can't unravel it – and I suppose that's for the best. Her life is mine now after all.

I left the newspaper she was working for though. Freelance is much better, especially with a baby to look after – and I've found a publisher for my first science-fiction novel, _'The Brigadier and the Daleks'_. There's even talk of television rights, which should pay very well. No shortage of ideas for sequels either – I had Alistair tell me all about his adventures with the Doctor, and I've written them all down. Should keep me going for a while!

Kate wasn't sure of me at first, which is understandable, but asking her to be bridesmaid, and consulting her about food and venues for the wedding helped a lot. So did her baby brother – she loves him to bits, and likes to help with the feeds, and fetching the nappy creams and such.

Alistair's parents dote on the little one too, of course, though I think they're still not sure about me. Given how my 'other' self behaved, I can't say I blame them, but I hope to win them over eventually.

Alistair got the Head of Maths post at the school, and he's found that he rather likes teaching. Sometimes his ex-army mates come over for a bar-b-q, and it still sounds odd to hear them call him 'colonel'. "He was up for promotion to Brigadier," one of them once confided to me, "But when Fiona died he quit to look after Kate."

I must put the journal back in its box now. I keep it in a drawer in the bedroom, underneath the poster of the London Underground that we have on the wall. Three framed pencil drawings are above the bed: one of Alistair, one of me, and one of Kate. I brought them with me, tucked into the pages of the journal, and we keep them to remind us.

I can hear the baby crying, it's time for his feed. Oh, I haven't said what we called him, have I?

John Smith Lethbridge-Stewart, of course. Everyone thinks the second name's for me. We know it isn't.

Who knows, maybe he'll grow up to be a doctor?

* * *

_**[A/N - Please leave a review! You don't have to be registered with the site to do so. Thanks]**_


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